I went to Las Vegas several years ago.... First time in a long time.
I went for a family reunion.
After too many years, my brother had reached out. What was I going to do?
In my line of work, families are a liability, but they are also the trail of breadcrumbs that can lead you back, keep you from getting lost.
I went because I could and because for too long, I could not. I went because my brother and I had been born together and because we had spent too much time since then worlds apart. I went because I had run out of excuses not to. I went too because I was frankly curious to see if there was anyone left who would remember.
We had done one of our domestics in Las Vegas during the dying days of what is now seen as the "Golden Age." Seems hard to believe, but people, not professionals mind you, but Mr. & Mrs. John Q's went to Las Vegas as if it was a big deal. They dressed up to go to the pool for chrissakes.
I used to see them in their tuxedos and minks lining up to see Louis Prima & Keely Smith, or Al Martino: the real entertainers. Never got to see their shows myself 'cause of the job, but I remember it was a big deal for folks to come to town, play the tables and see the shows.
This trip, it was a whole different place.
There's almost nothing left of the town I saw back then. The town has a collective memory like corner-office executives: nothing matters before they came to town and they are going to change the place before they leave.
Some of the names are still around, but that's all: just the names.
Las Vegas used to have a sound that was its own. You could have grabbed me up from anywhere in the world, blindfolded me and dropped me in the Horseshoe, or Binion's or the Frontier and I could have told you I was in Las Vegas. Back then, it sounded like cards and chips and the chink of glassware and laughter. It sounded like fun. You can't hear that now. You can't hear much of anything now. Now, all there is are the bleeps and blurps of the fucking slot machines that have sprung up like weeds that show up in your driveway. It's like the town has been transformed into an arcade vision of what it used to be.
I got in a couple of days early just to make sure that I wasn't going to be a target.
I made a point of showing my face in all the old places, and some of the new ones. If I was in the system, they were going to know I was in town. The last time we worked there, a lot of people got hurt and I didn't want payback on my family.
Used to be family was off-limits. You'd do a job and, if anyone took exception to how it turned out, they dealt with you directly. It was strictly business. Maybe not everyone's type of business, but it was predictable, reliable. You could work with it.
But it's not like that anymore.
As a result of prosecutions, executions and retirements, the old timers are out and the business school types in. Nobody ever went to the mattresses over their accountants and only the short-straw boys would get stuck. You start out in the trenches as a soldier working for the Boss. Nobody's going to risk an extended stay in a six-by-eight for a CEO.
And so, the mad dogs....
With them, it's not about business. Everything is personal. If they decided to come after me, no one who'd ever passed me in traffic would be safe. I had to know if I was still on the list.
It was kind of exciting, at first.
I was back in the game. Counter-surveillance skills I hadn't used in a quarter of a century came back to me like it was yesterday.
I took the Super Shuttle from McCarran up to the Sahara. It was not much to look at--certainly no match for the billion dollar pigeon holes down the Strip, but it was a familiar space. We had worked out of there many times in the old days and I knew where all the exits were.
I ditched my luggage with the porters and then walked across the street to the Stratosphere where I caught a cab downtown.
I had the driver drop me near Fremont St. where I joined the 'Loos and strolled down what was once called "Glitter Gultch."
Fucking place is a mall now. Seriously. Trying to complete with the Strip, they put up this god-awful canopy of lights and speakers that must be a gift to dips and maltoolers. Once every fifteen minutes, they dim the surrounding lights and play a show that's got every head looking up and leaves every wallet and purse up for grabs.
Walking through the Horseshoe, I did a little shopping and picked up a hat, some glasses and a hotel logo shirt. (Damn if they didn't have one in my size.) By the time the doorman at the opposite entrance hailed me a cab, I was a different person.
We doubled back to Sahara Blvd. and found a used car dealer east of the Strip. I had the cabbie drop me at an AM/PM and I walked the mile back to the lot.
These were some shitty cars. I couldn't tell if the sellers were desperate, or the dealer was that stupid. Either way, what he had suited me just fine.
About an hour later I was mobile. Thirty-day tags on a piece-of-shit Buick that was not going to draw too much attention and would not be expected by anyone looking for the new car smell of a rental.
Next stop: North Las Vegas for more shopping. From the old days, I remembered a surplus shop where I could get all that TSA would not allow.
On the way back, I stopped at several thrift shops. I needed to replace what was in my luggage. If I was familiar with the Sahara, I imagined anyone looking for me would be as well.
I went back to the Sahara and parked deep inside their parking garage.
I got a couple of things out of the trunk and headed off into the night.
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